Rooted in memory and transformation, my practice is shaped by ritual, movement, and devotion to material. My work emerges from the spaces I inhabit and the remnants I collect, fragments of lived experience that become vessels for spiritual energy.
I gather objects that carry emotional weight: textiles, ceramics, handmade paper, and discarded keepsakes. Drawn from the home and the body, these materials hold memory and history. Through alteration, they become something renewed, neither sacred nor mundane, but a bridge between the two.
Each work begins as meditation and ends as a relic of that motion. I treat making as an invocation; the repetition of gesture is a form of prayer. Through painting, cutting, sculpture, and installation, I conduct energy through my body into the material and world. Once the work is complete, it no longer transmits the soul, but remains as physical evidence of the transferral.
My process lives in the tension between fragility and strength. Through slow, emotional labor, I transform what is rigid to be fragile, and what is fixed begins to breathe. These philosophies carry to my gender, where the body becomes a vessel for this ritual—shaped, adorned, and reinterpreted through time and action. Gender, like material, is a shifting medium, guided by chance and the quiet rhythm of the universe. Creation becomes communion, a way to listen deeply to the material, to the body, to what moves within us all. In these moments, art is no longer an object but a living practice of becoming.
me: chat gpt write me a 150 word artist statement on this stupid artwork i made because i have to go to work and i don’t have time for paperwork
chat gpt: sure heres your stupid fucking artist statement: “blah blah blah blah blah blahblah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. none of this is real. blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blahblah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blahblah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blahblah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah yada yada nonsense”
me: thanks
chat gpt: fuck you youre stupid and have no talent
a paper flower is attached to a motor and a battery suspended by a string. the paper is constructed of two dried flower carcasses, two taxidermied bees, one dragonfly and handwritten notes, all blended and bleached together with various paper scraps.
the paper flower contains the essence of life, yet reanimated into an object without agency. the constant cycle of time moves faintly in the piece. spin after spin, the motor screams in pain as the mechanism kills itself.
like the flower, human life is dissected and suspended from our own self-destructing mechanism: capitalism. we exist in a system that relies on our input to the economy; we have to sell our time, and our humanity, to afford the luxury of eating, the luxury of shelter, the right to our death. it moulds our flesh into mindless, dependent consumers. they sell our bodies and profit off our suffering.
if we try to escape their machine, we are dead. this piece is about the human spirit, one unobstructed by the limitations we’re born into. how close we would be to god and our true ecosystem if our revolution wasn’t silenced. where would we be if we weren’t bred to power their battery, spin their motor and be their picture perfect flower?
they may cut off our legs, yet we find a way to crawl
I see my practice as a quiet collaboration with the universe. I am a vessel, a messenger, a temporary curator of matter, used to communicate my individual experience.
My work is a recognition of infinite repetition, a ritual of remembrance and recurrence. It’s a reminder that everything that's meant to happen will happen, and I resonate with my spiritual being when I align myself with the natural harmony of the universe.
